“Doctor, he’s inside this room,” the anxious woman uttered. Placing an empty tin tray on a lopsided coffee table, Betty Wilson ushered the doctor inside. A scrawny man, wobbled into the home, carrying a large briefcase, squinting from the blazing sun. “He’s been acting awfully strange lately,” her voice wavered. She shut the front door and offered the doctor a seat. He declined. “This morning, he walked into the kitchen,” she lowered her voice “and he was wearing his snazzy, tournament tie.” Twirling his moustache in amusement, the doctor chuckled. Her hands became shaky as she spoke, “and he told me a guest is coming to play with him.” That second the doctor erupted into laughter. Mrs. Wilson listened begrudgingly to his mockery, but was warped back into distress, once she glanced at the door to her husband’s tournament room. Amid his laughter, the doctor caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the tin tray. His laughter faded into a subtle smile as he adjusted his posture. “Oh Betty. What is strange about a crooner inviting a friend over to play a game he loves? ” The room went quiet. All that was heard was the clock striking 12 and the tea boiling in the background. Only a whisper broke the silence, “ He is playing alone.” She cracked the door to the chess chamber open, so that the doctor may see. Perplexed, all the doctor could think is has he gone mad?
George Wilson stared into the eyes of his opponent, in awe of their remarkable resemblance to himself. Dark hair, brown eyes, pale boney skin. How strange? In the middle of a dark, empty room they sat, ready to face off.
Mr.Wilson has been playing chess for thirty-seven years, eight month and 3 days, winning every match he has played for the last twenty-two years. Will this man end my winning streak? Potentially. The two of them were separated by a thin sheet of glass. Unable to shake hands, they nodded at each other before commencing the game. This match will be different. Today will change everything.
Mrs. Wilson shut the door, flustered. “ Doctor,” she asked softly with her back to him, “I’m all nerves. Please tell me, can you help him?” The doctor flipped his briefcase around and sat on top. In all his years of work, Mr.Wilson’s case is the most peculiar one he has had. “Mrs. Wilson. Don’t be a jitterbug” he replied unsure, “ He’s a… good man. I’ll make sure to bring him back to normal.” I sure hope I can.
Mr. Wilson played first. “ Pawn e seven to e five.” He glided his pawn across the board keeping his eyes locked on his opponent. The man behind the glass scoffed “ Pawn e two to e four.” George grabbed his opponent’s pawn and moves it for him. Hmm, peculiar. Even our voices are quite similar.
With their ears pressed against the door, Mrs. Wilson and the doctor stared at each other, bewildered. Taking deep breaths, Mrs. Wilson focused on the scent of herbs emerging from the teapot, hoping to calm her nerves. “He’s talking to himself,” the doctor said, baffled, searching through his mind for a diagnosis. He must be mad! I haven’t a clue what to do? “Are you sure you can cure him,” Mrs. Wilson said, with glistening eyes. The doctor stiffened his posture and made sure to mask the uncertainty in his voice. “ Of course, Betty, Of course.” They sat by the door, listening to Mr.Wilson talk to his own reflection.
The man behind the glass looked at Mr.Wilson with pride. “ Knight G four to e five,” with his face painted with excitement he exclaimed, “Checkmate!” The feeling of defeat felt foreign to Mr.Wilson but there was a simple bliss in meeting his match. He reminisced on his younger years, back to when the game was more challenging. Before every match was an inevitable win. Before the game became dull. But today was exciting. His smile shone brightly in the dim room.
Today he lost.
“What are you smiling at?” His wife gave him a peck and stared at the mirror with him, but her reflection did not appear in the glass beside him. Hmm, how peculiar. She proceeded to seal her eyes shut and wait a moment but when she opened her eyes her reflection did not appear. Am I… a ghost. No, I mustn’t be dead. I would have remember my unfortunate demise.
“ Jitterbug,” Mr.Wilson reached for her hand, “ what’s the matter?” Betty tried to feel a sense of comfort from her husband but could not shake the unsettling atmosphere. In fact, the air began to feel stiffer the second he moved.
The man in the in the mirror did not replicate her husband loving gesture.
Instead, the man in the mirror smiled, waved goodbye and pranced away, unable to contain the joy of victory. “Betty, what seems to bother you?” She looked dazed as she signalled the doctor to come inside. The doctor wobbled in with his briefcase and collapsed on the floor upon seeing the empty mirror.
Mr.Wilson could not understand their reactions. Surely the man would not stay there forever. He had to go home eventually. “ Your reflection! It left. It’s empty- ‚” she became frantic,“ But how. How is this possibl-” “Darling, please do not bother the poor man,” Mr.Wilson said in a calm voice, “He must rest for tomorrow’s match.”